


Drive

by WhatTheHanz



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Super, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Developing Relationship, Dragon Ball Super - Freeform, Dragon Ball Z - Freeform, Eventual Relationships, F/M, M/M, Medical Illness, Strong Language, Trust Issues, black mail, ride share
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-10-12 19:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20569577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheHanz/pseuds/WhatTheHanz
Summary: Vegeta's life takes a sudden turn for the worse, and struggling to make ends meet, he picks up a gig with the ride share service POD.After what should have been an annoying, albeit typical, night of driving, he finds himself presented with an offer too good to be true.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Only some of the passenger antics described are based on things me and my friends have done to our significant others after a girls night out. 
> 
> Also, special thanks to @mahoganydoodles for their edits and suggestions!

Vegeta hated working for the ride share service POD. It was demeaning and ate up so much more time than he expected. But what he especially hated was picking up packs of drunk females. 

It wasn’t unusual to have five women waiting for a car that could only accommodate four passengers, with them slurring that one would just sit on a lap until they got to their first destination. They also demanded extra stops at disgusting fast food joints, although he didn’t turn them down if they offered to buy him a burger between tipsy hiccups. His standard of living had recently fallen and he’d always take a free meal. 

On lucky nights, he could drop them off at one spot, and his poor ears could recover from the shrieking comments and jokes about cocks, pussy, and incessant cackling. Other nights, someone vomited and every one of them had an individual stop.

The only upside to come from interacting with them was that they usually found his surly, quiet demeanor “cute” or “handsome” and they left him positive reviews with poorly calculated tips that tended to work out in his favor. 

Clean up was always a nightmare, though. Inevitably one woman would fall asleep, and there would be a makeup outline on the window. His backseat would be littered with hair ties, bobby pins, and forgotten lipstick. He’d have to leave the windows down to air out the battling smells of hair spray, perfumes, and residual alcohol vapors. 

Nothing compared to having to clean up vomit, but at least he could charge the shit out of them for that. It wasn’t quite enough to balance out how disgusting the task was, though. 

He’d maybe been asleep for about three or four hours when his phone started blowing up with calls. There were only a handful of people who had his personal number, and only one of them would have the audacity to call so early. 

Groggily, he swiped at the screen and grumbled, “The fuck you want, Nappa?”

“That’s a pretty ungrateful way to speak to the man who helps you keep your job,” a booming voice responded. Vegeta huffed in resignation. Nappa was a family friend of sorts and had a job somewhere in the upper-middle management of POD. As a favor, he would often make the young man’s negative reviews disappear so that he could keep his shit driving gig. 

“Okay, good morning. Now, what the fuck do you want?”

That at least got a booming guffaw on the other end of the line. “Your last pickup of the night said they think they left something in your car. We’ll need you to head to their residence.”

“What? Why can’t I just drop off whatever the hell it is at HQ and whichever harpy can go pick it up later?” Vegeta growled.

“Do you even know who your last passenger was?”

“No, and why does that matter?”

“You’re such a stubborn asshole. Check your ride history.” 

Accompanied by a flurry of more swears, Vegeta opened up his POD app to check his ride history. “Bulma Briefs…? What’s special about this broad?”

“You gotta be fucking with me, kid,” Nappa sighed.

“No. Why’s she get special treatment?”

“She’s the god damn heiress of Capsule Corp, you idiot! We’ll do whatever she wants. All we need is one picture of her using a POD car and Nimbus will be finished,” Nappa declared, the sound of his meaty fist slamming down on his desk hard enough to be heard over the phone. “Now take a shower, drive to the address I’ll text you, and for once, be fucking polite. If you screw this up, I can’t fix it for you." Nappa disconnected the call. 

Vegeta rubbed his tired face. He was exhausted after multiple late night drives on the road, but Nappa had helped him out since the proverbial bomb had been dropped. 

He rolled out of bed and took a quick shower, always cognizant of his water and electric bills. He hadn’t had the time yet to go to the laundromat, so he rummaged through his clothes, selecting the ones that were least offensive to the nose and hoping an extra swipe of a strongly scented deodorant would make up for it. 

His phone buzzed with the promised address. He unlocked the screen and glared at it before entering it into his GPS. As he slid on his shoes, he quickly searched 'Bulma Briefs' to see which woman she was. 

"Fuck," he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. His phone screen was filled with pictures of a beautiful woman with turquoise hair and vibrant, blue eyes. She had been the loudest, most vulgar of the troupe. He had been focused on the road, but from his periphery she seemed like the one who had yanked down the top of her cocktail dress on some asinine bet. With a final melodramatic sigh, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

* * *

**A/N:**

This started as joke in Discord and now here we are!


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, Vegeta begrudgingly went to meet last night's ride at her home.

When Vegeta arrived at his destination, he had to do a double check that his GPS hadn't sent him on a wild goose chase. Last night, he had dropped off this Bulma chick at a guardhouse with a call box and keypad. Tired and just ready to crash, he had assumed she lived at some luxury, gated apartment complex. After speaking with Nappa, he was expecting a mansion. He'd been wrong again. Instead, he had pulled up to what could only be described as an estate, with a sprawling, well manicured yard and a large house set far back on the property. 

The young man pulled his car up to the guardhouse and hit the call button. After a moment, a voice answered, "Soliciting is strictly prohibited."

Vegeta bit his tongue to keep a flurry of choice words from spilling out of his mouth. Instead, he cleared his throat and replied, "I have a, uh, meeting with Bulma Briefs."

"Regarding what?"

"I was her POD driver last night, Vegeta Breigh, and she left something behind."

"One moment." Despite the slight static, Vegeta still picked up on the skepticism. After a few minutes, the voice returned, instructing, "Please pull forward and wait until the gate opens. Follow the driveway to the main house. Mrs. Briefs will meet you."

He was trying to be on his best behavior, but he couldn't resist flipping off the asshole guard in the security hut. But for Nappa's sake, he kept his hand below the window.

He cruised down the meandering driveway, trying to keep his eyes from bulging too much. This place was absolutely ridiculous in its opulence.

Finally, Vegeta reached the house. A blonde woman waited for him outside, curls pinned and piled on her head and a friendly smile on her lips. He was confused about who she was; the Bulma he had looked up online was a different woman entirely. 

The young man put the car in park and got out. "Oh, you must be Mr. Breigh! My, aren't you a handsome one. I'm Bulma's mother, Panchy. Why don't you come inside and have a coffee and muffin. Bulma's not quite ready yet.”

Before he really knew what was happening, he was pulled along by Mrs. Briefs as she showered him with compliments about his good looks. In a breeze, they entered the kitchen and he was pushed down into a kitchen chair. Still trying to take it all in, Vegeta was presented with the promised coffee and muffin... as well as a form and pen. He picked it up and scanned over it quickly. 

"Is a non-disclosure form really necessary? I thought your daughter just wanted to check my car for something she left?"

"Oh I wish it wasn't," the blonde pouted, "but unfortunately one can't be too careful these days. It's really quite straightforward, though. It's just for the contents of today's discussion."

Vegeta wasn't much of a talker anyway and he couldn't think of a single person who he'd even considering discussing the morning's annoying chore with. He signed the form while trying to eat the muffin at a pace that didn't indicate how hungry he was. 

Mrs. Briefs was either very perceptive, a generous host, or both. As soon as the NDA was signed, she grabbed the piece of paper and replaced it with a plate that contained at least a dozen muffins. "Eat up! There's plenty more where that came from. Oh, I just love young men with healthy appetites!" the woman chirped happily as she sat down next to him, sipping her own coffee and flipping through a magazine.

After a few minutes and three muffins later, a feminine voice called out, "Moooom, is that fresh coffee?"

"Yes, sweetie! And your guest is here!"

The blue haired chick from his last drive and the photos finally entered. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and there were little raccoon smudges under her eyes from mascara that hadn't completely washed off. She wore a pink, silk pajama set of a tank top and micro shorts. Vegeta noticed she wasn't wearing a bra and quickly diverted his gaze. It was her house, he figured, and if she wanted her nipples to be seen through her top, that was her business. 

Bulma briefly disappeared before returning with her own cup of coffee. She sat down, took a sip, and then her intense eyes met his. "Thanks for getting us all home last night," she began. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet me so I can find my bracelet."

Like he really had a choice in the matter, he thought resentfully. And wait, did she have him drive all the way over here at the ass crack of dawn for a fucking bracelet? Vegeta cleared his throat to give himself a second to reign in his irritation. "I checked the car when I got home and didn't see anything," he explained. 

"Yeah, you probably wouldn't. I hide shit when I'm drunk. So, do you mind if I go take a look?" she asked.

"Er, sure?"

The young man stood, and waited for Bulma to lead the way out in her ridiculous pink get up with matching slippers. He unlocked his car and opened the door. She bent forward and began rummaging around. He was exposed to a view only a gynecologist should get. With a huff, he left her to do her own thing and leaned against the hood of the car. 

After a moment, she bounced up, triumphantly holding a bracelet with seven beads,with stars of various amounts encased in the resin. "Found it!" she declared happily. 

"Oh? Where was it?" Vegeta really had checked his car before turning in for the night and was surprised he would have missed such a garish accessory. 

"I popped the covering off the door light and put it in there," she answered nonchalantly. 

He stared at her, dumbstruck before finally managing to spit out, "Why the fuck would you do that?" Shit, he thought. Hopefully she wasn't offended that he'd dropped the f-bomb. 

Bulma flipped her damp hair and shrugged. "Seemed like a good thing to do at the time. Oh!" her mouth fell open with realization. "Did I tip you last night?"

"Lemme check…" he pulled out his phone and looked through POD ride history. "No," he answered. 

"God, that was shitty of me! Come back inside and I'll get it!" She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him along, like he couldn't navigate the distance between the driveway and the door. Vegeta managed to overcome the urge to yank his arm away. 

"Mom, I found my bracelet! Can you get Vegeta more coffee? I forgot to tip him last night," she yelled, finally releasing her hold. 

"I'm so happy you found it, honey. That's been in the family for ages," Panchy responded as she retrieved his mug and filled it up. Vegeta sat back down at the table, pleased to see she hadn't put the muffins away yet. 

The blonde matron hummed happily to herself while he inhaled two more muffins and drained the fresh cup. Bulma returned and claimed her seat before sliding five 100 zenni bills across the table to him. 

He choked briefly on his coffee, pounding himself on the chest. Bulma giggled at him and with a mischievous gleam in her eye said, "I'm sure we were a bunch of assholes last night, and I really do appreciate you coming over here." Vegeta didn't respond, still too overwhelmed by the money on the table. 

"There's more where that came from, if you're interested in a job, Mr. Breigh," Panchy said happily. 

* * *

**A/N:**

I live for awkward first meetings.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta learns more about the potential job and meets with an old acquaintance to review his contract.
> 
> Thanks again to @mahoganydoodles for their edits and suggestions!

"Are you guys like, the mafia or something?" Vegeta asked, voice cracking a bit, still stunned by the sudden turn of events.

Bulma chuckled before realizing the young man was serious. "No! Do you live under a rock or something?" she exclaimed. "Capsule Corporation is one of the biggest companies in  _ the world _ ." 

"Oh honey, don't sell yours and your father's hard work short. You know it's officially become the biggest," Panchy gently corrected. 

"Okay, so if you guys are so big and great, what do you need from me?" he asked suspiciously.

"I need a personal driver," the young woman answered.

“Can’t you just drive yourself?” he shot back. 

“Well mom, it sounds like Mr. Breigh isn’t interested in the job…”

“W-w-wait! I didn’t say that! I just need more details before I can agree to anything,” Vegeta interjected hurriedly. This family was clearly rich, if a little eccentric, but maybe it would be worth it. 

“Oh honey, I’m so glad you’re open to the idea. I’ve written up a redacted copy of the contract if you’d like to review it with a lawyer,” Panchy said, producing a packet.

Surprised, Vegeta couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You wrote all this?”

“My Bulma’s not the only one with beauty  _ and _ brains,” she tittered good naturedly. “Mother always did want me to marry a lawyer. I figured the best place to find one was law school. She was initially so disappointed when I married an awkward engineer with ridiculous dreams.”

“Yeah Mom, you got real lucky with Dad. Can we get back on task?” the turquoise haired woman asked, slightly irritated. 

“Oh darling! You can’t still be bitter over that silly boy Yamcha?”

“Mom!” Bulma cried out. “This is a  _ business _ meeting, not time to air my dirty laundry.” Turning her angry eyes back to Vegeta, she grumbled, “You’ve got three days to review it and let us know if you accept or not. The position would start immediately following acceptance.” 

“Let me show you out, Mr. Breigh. Oh, and why don’t you take the rest of the muffins with you! I know a healthy, young man won’t waste them!” Panchy said as she tied the remaining pastries up into a bundle from the cloth they had been decoratively served on. 

* * *

Later that day, after a much deserved nap to process the overwhelming morning, Vegeta parked in front of Bardock and Sons, Attorneys at Law. The man laughed that old Bardock still held out that Kakarot would ever have the discipline or mental capacity to become a lawyer. But at least one of Bardock’s sons had made it through law school and passed the bar. Luckily, he owed Vegeta several favors accumulated over years of acquaintanceship. 

He pushed through the doors and headed towards the offices, bypassing a flustered receptionist trying desperately to find out if he had an appointment. Ignoring the poor woman, he continued on until he reached Raditz’s door. He kicked it open for dramatic effect, smirking as his target jumped in surprise. 

“Fuck, Vegeta, you could at least call first, you ass!” Raditz yelled at him, dabbing the contents of his spilled gyro with a cloth napkin. 

“Mr. Son, I’m so sorry! I tried to stop him but…” the teary-eyed receptionist began. Raditz waved off her apology with a large hand. 

“It’s okay, Maron. This particular jackass is an unstoppable force of nature. Please close the door behind you,” Raditz instructed. Wiping at her eyes and hiccuping slightly, Maron nodded her head and left. 

Raditz’s attention shifted to his unexpected visitor. “What the hell do you want, Ouji?”

“You prick, you know I don’t use that name.”

Raditz responded with an exaggerated eye roll. “Yeah, you and your mommy issues. But still. You better have a damn fine reason for busting in here like that.” 

“I need you to look at this contract for me,” Vegeta answered, slapping the paperwork down on the desk while taking a seat. Raditz shot the other man one more angry glare before pulling it over and beginning to scan the document. 

“You do know that I’m a corporate attorney and this is a bit out of my wheelhouse, right?” the attorney grumbled, but still continued to flip through the pages. After several minutes of quiet, he pushed the document back across the desk. “Fuck man, this is a tight fucking employment contract. Pretty much, your life is over if you violate it. What’s this for, anyway?”

“I would think you’d be smart enough to know that I can’t tell you, since all that information is redacted. But kindly give me the highlights,” Vegeta retorted. 

“Well,” Raditz began, “You’d receive a monthly stipend of about 4,000 zenni. Oddly, you have the option to deposit it into a bank account or receive it in cash. You would be expected to relocate to... somewhere, but they are willing to pay the penalties on any leases you have that you may have to break to accommodate you. You’d have to turn over personal electronics and use whatever they give you. You are guaranteed at least one day off a week, but you are expected to be available and on call for the rest. You may also receive bonuses for exceptional performances, but that was definitely kept intentionally vague. The biggest portion of this is the NDA clause. Like, holy shit dude. They are not fucking around about keeping business private.” 

“I’m not really concerned about that part,” the younger man responded casually.

“Oh yeah, you’re no social butterfly, that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve even seen you log onto Faceplace since you got accepted to college. So yeah, for once your pissy, loner attitude works to your advantage,” Raditz teased. “Hell, when was the last time you even had a girlfriend?”

“Is it relevant to the contract?” Vegeta asked. 

“Not that I can see. There are some restrictions on allowing visitors to wherever you’re supposed to relocate but…”

“Then shut up.” 

The long haired lawyer held his hands up in the air in defeat, “Alright, alright, Mr. Grumpy Pants. God, I hope you can be just a tad more...congenial if you accept whatever the hell this is.” Vegeta began to gather up the documents in preparation to leave. “You know you have to pay me for my time, right?” 

Headed towards the office door, Vegeta threw back over his shoulder, “I won’t tell the receptionist you’ve had chlamydia three times in the last year, and we’ll call it even.” Over the sound of the door closing, he could hear Raditz yell some truly unprofessional words. 

At the front desk while the receptionist awkwardly validated his parking, he leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, “I know Raditz is easy on the eyes, but he’s a total whore. Make him wear a condom, no matter what he says.” Ignoring the girl’s flustered, almost incomprehensible responses, he walked out of the suite, smiling wickedly to himself. 

After leaving Bardock and Sons, Vegeta headed to the park to think. It was the middle of the day, so it shouldn’t be too crowded with screaming kids. There was a beautiful walking trail he could always ramble down if he needed a more serene atmosphere to think in, surrounded by old- growth trees and mossy ground. 

He thought deeply, alternating between biting and tugging on his lower lip, even occasionally switching it up by chewing the cuticles on his nails until they bled. It really did seem too good to be true, but there was a lot he could do with that money. 

Finally, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket and dialed the number that Mrs. Briefs had scrawled on a blank piece of paper that he had carefully kept hidden in his ragged wallet. After a few rings, a happy voice answered, “Hello, you’ve reached Panchy Briefs!”

“Mrs. Briefs, it’s Vegeta Breigh.” 

“Oh hello, dear! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Hopefully it’s good news?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I’ll accept the job.” 

“Oh good! When do you think you can start? Of course, we’d love for you to come on board as soon as possible, but I understand if you need to make some arrangements.”

“Monday,” he replied automatically. It just sounded more natural to pick the beginning of the week.

“Oh, I’m so excited! You can fill out the paperwork and give us any additional information you’ll need to get settled in. I have to run now sweetie, but if anything comes up, you just give me a call.”

“Uh, thanks. I’ll see you Monday,” he finished lamely. 

After the line disconnected, he dialed another number. A woman answered whose voice was on the complete opposite spectrum of Mrs. Briefs’: he could hear the exhaustion and quickly smoked cigarettes on breaks. He provided his information and she transferred him. After a moment, a young boy got on the line. “Hi Vegeta!” he squealed, his voice still childishly high.

“Hey squirt. So, I have some news for you,” he answered, smiling to himself over the excited voice on the other end of the call. 

“Are you still coming to visit this weekend?”

“I am, but for a little while I might not be able to come as much. I got a new job, so while that’s getting started, I’ll be pretty tied up. But it’s gonna be really good for us.” 

There was a silence on the other end that radiated disappointment and sadness. Finally, the little boy said, “Okay, I understand. But Vegeta... can you call me more then? I miss you.”

“Of course, Tarble. I’ve gotta take care of some stuff, but I’ll see you Saturday.” 

“Bring me some ice cream! And those sour candies!” the boy demanded, bouncing back from his brief melancholy. 

“The sour stuff makes you sick,” Vegeta gently chided.

“Everything makes me sick, so it doesn’t matter. Double chocolate ice cream and sour candies!” the boy repeated.

“Yeah, yeah. But I’ll make sure the nurses know to yell at you and not me,” he responded with a quiet chuckle. 

“Okay Vegeta, well if you’re busy I’m going to go back to free time. Love you!” Tarble declared. 

Feeling his throat squeeze a bit, Vegeta managed to say, “You too,” before hanging up.

* * *

**A/N:**

Didn't feel great today, so posting this earlier than planned.

Writing Vegeta and Raditz was super fun! Hopefully they amused you.

Feedback always appreciated, of course.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma does some personal snooping and Vegeta plans his visit to Tarble.
> 
> Thanks again for beta-ing @mahoganydoodles!

Bulma skimmed over her mother’s text once more, rolling her eyes at the overuse of heart emoticons at the POD driver agreeing to the job. Like there was ever a doubt. She quickly tapped out her own response.

_ Mom, he was supposed to start immediately. Not Monday.  _

A few minutes later her phone screen lit up with a response.

_ Oh honey, don’t be so serious. You don’t have any plans.  _

The young scientist gave up, setting her phone aside. It wasn’t about whether she had any plans, it was about setting and enforcing boundaries and expectations. But she shouldn’t be too surprised. Her mother had never been one to enforce much of anything once Capsule Corp took off and she retired as its sole lawyer. 

She was starting to have second thoughts about her idea to find a new personal driver. At the time, hiring just a regular person who needed a job instead of going through a specialty agency made the most sense. A professional would have  _ professional  _ contacts who may have a little too much interest in her work or personal life. Perhaps she had let paranoia get the better of her. 

Starting to doubt herself, she handed the mental reins over to her newly developed neuroticism. She logged out of her work computer and picked up her cell phone again. Making sure she was using the family’s personal server, she began searching for information on Vegeta Breigh. So far, all she knew was that he had passed some carefully constructed tests. He was a competent driver despite numerous distractions, didn’t ogle her body, and had no idea who she was or what her family did. Also, that he had an attitude. While the gate guard hadn’t seen his childish hand gesture, the security cameras hadn't missed it. 

The first search result was his Faceplace page. The privacy settings on it were lacking, but it didn’t seem like this guy had much of a life to display anyway. He was tagged in a handful of statuses and photos, but hadn’t posted anything in what looked like years. 

Finally, after what felt like ages of skimming her finger over the screen, she found a status about getting accepted to his university of choice. She made a mental note of it and resumed her digging. After a few minutes, she gave up on trolling his wall. Instead, she shifted over to his photo albums. 

He had only ever uploaded one profile picture.  _ One! _ The rest seemed to be reluctant group pictures, always with the same people, always farthest away and looking anywhere but at the camera. There was one that finally caught her attention. Was that...was that _ Goku _ ? 

It was blurry, but enlarging it confirmed that the photo, albeit several years old, was definitely of Vegeta and her friend. There was a smudge of red under Goku’s nose and Vegeta wasn’t scowling for once. Instead, his was graced by a shit-eating smirk that was oddly handsome. The two teenagers were standing next to each other dressed in similar martial arts uniforms. She remembered the colors from Goku’s high school. 

She closed out the picture and went back for a closer review of previous photos she had skimmed.  _ Oh God _ , she thought, face flushing,  _ that’s fucking Raditz _ . 

She had hung out with Goku’s older brother a few times, but lately she did her best to avoid him. Bulma was proud, but even she felt a little embarrassed about drunkenly making out with him to spite Yamcha on one of their breaks. While Raditz had gotten his act together enough to excel professionally, he was still a bit of a train wreck outside of the office.

She exited out of the app and quickly found Goku in her contacts. After a few rings, a sleepy voice finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey Goku, it’s Bulma.”

“Bulma? What’s wrong?” he asked, voice hitching slightly with groggy alarm.

“Do you remember Vegeta Breigh?” she asked.

“Bulma, it’s like, 1:00 AM here…”

“Oh jeez, sorry Goku,” she apologized. She had forgotten that the fighting circuit was in its active season, and her friend was currently touring. 

“Ah, it’s okay,” he responded cheerily. “Um, I thought his last name was Ouji, but I remember Vegeta. He was a senior at my high school.”

“What do you know about him?” she drilled. 

“Well,” she could practically hear her friend rubbing the back of his head, “he was a really good fighter, but not really friendly, or else he could have been team captain.”

Bulma breathed slowly out through her nostrils and asked, “What else? What kind of person was he outside of fighting?”

“Oh, he was really smart. I think he was in the top of his class. Our dads knew each other ‘cause they're both lawyers. I think I remember Radz saying Vegeta’s dad was pissed that he wasn’t planning on going to law school but was going to study...kin, um, kinstology? Something with muscles.”

“Kinesiology?” Bulma supplied.

“Yeah!” There was some murmuring in the background. “Hey Bulma, I gotta go. I woke up Chi Chi.”

“Thanks for the help, Goku. Tell Chi Chi I’m sorry and also hello,” she said before ending the call. 

The young woman felt slightly better. She certainly had some more research to do, but the fact that their social circles had overlapped a little made her feel more confident in her decisions. While Raditz wasn’t her favorite person, his association with Vegeta assuaged some of her concerns. She knew the Son brothers’ father, and he was one hell of a hard ass. There was no way he’d let one of his kids pal around with someone he found unsavory. 

* * *

Vegeta rubbed his eyes while he waited in the checkout line of the grocery store, the promised ice cream and sour candies in a handbasket. 

As usual, he'd worked too late last night. At least this time it wasn't driving for POD. Instead, the young man had been doing a security gig at a skeezy bar owned by one of the people he hated most to have made acquaintances with: Zarbon. He had no idea how that shithole stayed open, but it often hosted concerts infamous for their rowdy and shady behavior. 

The bartenders never carded, and no one cared what extracurriculars were snuck in by patrons as long as drinks were bought. It made for a particularly difficult work environment, with drunks and tweakers trying to prove what tough shits they were. It was lucrative as long as he was willing to risk catching an elbow to the eye or a sucker punch in the gut. Zarbon paid him a flat rate of 250 zenni and then he got percentages from the door fee and the bar's tips.

He'd gotten home somewhere between 3:30 and 4:00 AM. He'd crammed in a few hours of sleep before hitting the laundromat at 7, trying to beat the rush. After he'd toted the canvas bag of clean clothes home, he'd grabbed the 500 he'd hidden under his mattress. A nagging voice told Vegeta to save the money for himself since he had no rainy day funds, but it sounded like he wouldn't be able to visit Tarble for a while, so he wanted to make sure his little brother had something special to keep him busy.

From the sad roach shack he called an apartment, he had driven to a GameHalt and bought the newest, most popular handheld held gaming device and the three best selling video games. 

Finally, at the grocery store, the disinterested cashier scanned his two items, dropping them haphazardly in a plastic bag. Vegeta considered saying something, but decided he wanted to keep his good mood. 

Crossing his fingers that the ice cream wouldn't melt too much, he headed to  _ Strong Hearts _ , the idiotically named group home for medically fragile children where Tarble lived. Vegeta parked under a shady tree and rushed through check-in. He could see Tarble bouncing in excitement on the other side of the window.

But before he could approach, a woman with a scowl to rival his own and blonde hair stepped in front of him.

"Mr. Ouji-"

"Breigh," he corrected curtly.

With a snort she resumed, "Mr.  _ Breigh _ , we need to have a brief meeting about Tarble before you go into the visitation area." 

_ Fuck _ , Vegeta thought to himself. Whenever Tarble's care coordinator, Launch, showed up, it was never to simply say hello.

"Can I at least put the ice cream in the cafeteria fridge first?" he asked lamely. 

Launch's scowl briefly deepened, but she relented. "Just hurry up. Everyone else is waiting." After a moment she added, "I don't know why you brought that. It's just going to make him sick."

* * *

**A/N:**

Thanks for your patience!

Please feel free to share your thoughts :)


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Bulma's internet stalking resulted in finding common acquaintances with Vegeta. 
> 
> Vegeta, about to visit his little brother, gets stopped by the staff for a meeting.

Vegeta followed the irritated care coordinator down the hallway that led to the various conference rooms. He could usually tell the seriousness of the situation based on the room’s “color palette.” He hated that he knew the phrase, but a chatty designer had told him all about it during a POD ride that had gone too long. The yellow room was supposed to be hopeful, usually reserved for intakes or positive progress reports. Then there was the green room, for freshness and safety, the room used for neutral meetings. Finally, the blue room. It was his least favorite. Going to the blue room meant the occupants needed calming, with topics that were sure to be distressing. 

His jaw clenched as Launch’s hand turned the doorknob on the dreaded room. He briefly peeked around her shoulder, wanting to see exactly how serious Launch’s concerns were. His jaw squeezed even more, he could practically hear his teeth groan in protest. Tarble’s entire team was there. 

Arranged around the table were Dr. Shin, his little brother’s psychiatrist, Dr. King, Tarble’s primary care doctor and assigned oncologist, and the on-campus school’s principal, Ms. Puar. Vegeta flopped into a chair and grumbled, “Okay, what is it this time?” Although internally he appreciated the care team’s work, he hated that they always did these types of meetings  _ before _ his visit. They could get lengthy and eat up the precious time he had. 

Ms. Puar attempted to speak, but her soft voice was overridden by Launch. “Tarble is acting out in school and being disruptive in group sessions.” 

“Oh? Care to tell me more?” he replied nonchalantly.  _ That can’t possibly be why they’re holding me hostage here... _ he reasoned. 

With a timid glare at the domineering blonde, Ms. Puar piped up, “Well, Tarble is always making...bathroom sounds when the classroom gets quiet.”

“So? He’s eight,” Vegeta dismissed. Did they really think this was worth an intervention? _ _

Clearing her throat, the principal continued, “He’s also not turning in homework and if he does anything at all during a test, it’s just to draw on it.” Now  _ that _ caught his attention. Tarble was a little nerd, and he’d always been serious about getting good marks. 

It was Dr. Shin’s turn now, apparently. “During our group sessions, he’s also purposely upsetting the other children. He either makes fun of their comments, or pretends to fall asleep while they’re speaking.” Well shit, maybe this was something. His brother was usually as sweet as Vegeta was surly. 

Dr. King cleared his throat in the tell-tale way he did before trying his hand at a joke to “break the tension.” Not in the mood to humor the doctor and the forced chuckles that would follow, Launch took the opportunity to seize control again. “His recent appointments also show he’s losing weight. Observation from the staff indicates he’s throwing away most of his food.” 

The young man felt a flare of fear which quickly evolved towards anger. “Well shit, I may not have a doctorate’s degree, but it sounds like the kid is depressed.”

The psychiatrist shifted in his chair, uncomfortable at the use of course language, “Well, yes, I was getting to that. If this behavior continues, we may need to add antidepressants to his medications.” 

“Is that really necessary? I think the kid’s got every right to be depressed: his dad is dead, he lives here, and his cancer won’t stay in remission. Let him make a fart noise if he wants,” Vegeta bit out. In truth though, he didn’t want Tarble taking more medications than he was already on, especially something that might dull his loving personality. 

“Mr. Breigh, we’re hoping that during your visit today, you can talk to Tarble about his behavior. Additional medication is really the last thing we want for him.” For once, Launch sounded sincere instead of haughty. 

He snorted in response. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. But we all know the real problem.” This time, everyone, even Dr. King, appeared uncomfortable. “When was the last time that prick was even here?”

“Today is about being proactive,” Launch dismissed his question. “Please, just speak with Tarble.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Are we done here? I’d actually like to  _ see _ him today if the brain trust is ready to dismiss me.”

Launch squinted her eyes in annoyance, but relented, “Yes, we’re through. I’ll escort you to the recreation area.” 

The blonde woman left him at the hand washing station, where Vegeta dutifully scrubbed up to his elbows, being sure to sing happy birthday in his head twice, just in case. He entered the room and was body slammed by an almost identical mini version of himself. 

“Jeez, kid,” he said with a mock growl to his voice, “you’re getting too big to keep doing that. You’re going to take out my nuts one day.” All the same, he still crouched down to give Tarble a bone-crushing hug in return. 

“Vegeta!” Tarble scolded. “You’re going to get in trouble with the staff if they catch you talking like that!”\

A guffaw escaped him. “Fortunately, I’m not scared of their evil looks and little write-ups to Launch.”

“But Vegeta, they could suspend your visitation if they think you’re a bad influence!” his brother pleaded. 

_ I’d like to see them fucking try,  _ Vegeta thought to himself. Aloud, he replied, “Well, I am a  _ bad _ influence. Come to the dining room and I’ll show you why.” 

The little boy squealed, knowing that ice cream and candy awaited him, and ran ahead to stake out his favorite table. His brother didn’t know quite why it was Tarble’s favorite, but at least he always knew where to find him. The young man went into the attached kitchen and fished the ice cream out of the fridge and retrieved the bag of sour candies and the video game system he had stashed away carefully on top of it. He tucked the game system out of view, wanting to make sure it stayed a surprise.

Tarble babbled happily while he ate nearly half the pint of ice cream. Vegeta picked at a few of the sour candies, but declined the boy’s offers of ice cream. That junk was too sweet for him. When he’d finally had his fill of sweets, Vegeta returned them to the kitchen, making sure the staff knew they were for his brother and better not throw them out again, as the official story went. He had a hunch that one of the grad students who worked nights had probably eaten them last time. 

“Alright punk, I got something for you,” he declared, returning to his brother’s table. Without anymore aplomb, he slid the video game system out from the back of his jeans and across the table. 

Table’s delighted shriek turned several heads. “Vegeta!” he squealed. “Is this real?”

“‘Course it is. I wouldn’t buy any knockoff shit for you,” he answered, pretending to ignore the true meaning of the boy’s question. Tarble rolled his eyes at his brother’s use of language again, but didn’t slow down as he tore through the packaging of the  _ Shift _ . “What games do you want to play first?” he asked, adding the three games to the pile. 

Tarble released an unholy squeal again as he excitedly shuffled the games back and forth while he made up his mind. Finally deciding on one, the little boy raced ahead to the rec area while Vegeta disposed of the mess of cardboard. 

The two brothers spent the next several hours on the couch together, Tarble curled up in the hollow made by Vegeta’s arm thrown over the back of it. Vegeta occasionally watched the gameplay, but mostly his eyes stayed fixed to the little boy’s face. From time to time, he relieved Tarble of the game so he could use the restroom or to get him through a particularly tough stretch. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the staff starting to give the signal that visiting hours were ending soon. He sighed, wanting the time with Tarble to stretch on forever. With reluctance, he pulled his arm away from the boy. “Hey Squirt,” he began. Tarble seemed to realize that his vulgar, wise-cracking brother was about to say something serious. He saved his game and turned off the system. 

“Yeah?”

“I...I know this whole... _ thing _ , isn’t great. I would do anything to change that. And hopefully this new job helps me do just that. But in the meantime...ya gotta stop being a little jerk,” he explained. “Don’t make fun of the other kids, take your school work seriously, and eat your damn food. You don’t want to go back on the nutrient shakes, right?”

“No,” Tarble sighed in response, his small shoulders beginning to shake as he tried to hold back tears. Vegeta averted his eyes for a moment, giving him the privacy to compose himself. After a breathy gulp, the boy gasped out, “I just miss Mom.” 

“I know,” he responded, pulling Tarble against him in a side hug. 

“Can you talk to Uncle Paragus again?” Tarble begged.

“I will. But you know how he is…” Vegeta warned. He always tried to be as forthcoming with Tarble as possible, not wanting to add the heartbreak of false hope to everything else he had to deal with. 

The two brothers hugged each other again, and Vegeta gave Tarble’s forehead a quick kiss as a staff member escorted the boy back to the living area to begin the bedtime routine. 

Once outside the facility and the mandatory twenty-five feet away, Vegeta pulled out the little-used pack of cigarettes he kept only for these visits. He cupped the flame of the lighter as he lit it and took the first drag. 

He would try talking to Paragus, as much of a waste that would be. In the meantime, he’d play his cards right with these crazy rich women who had decided to hire him as a private chauffeur.  If Paragus wouldn’t be reasonable, Vegeta would accumulate enough money to have the court  _ make _ their “uncle” be.

* * *

**A/N:**  
Thanks for the patience!


End file.
